


Long Winter Nights in Hedeby

by galaxystardust



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxystardust/pseuds/galaxystardust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the season 4B trailer with a clip of Lagertha and Ragnar kissing, this is how I imagine we get to that point. No sex scenes, just kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Winter Nights in Hedeby

            Lagertha was comfortably asleep and secure in her home on a long winter night. The fire was low and it was just beginning to feel chilly when a snuffling noise woke her. She moved slowly in the dark. Was it an animal or a bird? Had someone managed to enter her bedroom? She reached for the knife tucked under the mattress just in case. This had happened before. How many were there in her bedroom? Lagertha sat up slowly as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and her head cleared from sleep. The noise was a figure crouched in the corner. The figure didn’t move and neither did she.

            “Who is there!?” Lagertha shouted quietly. She didn’t want to raise the alarm yet, but she knew her sword was near. The figure was sobbing quietly. Bald head. Old blue tattoos. Ragnar? Was it Ragnar in her bedroom on this cold winter night? Crying?

            Lagertha got out of bed and put on her warm robe. There was no one else in the bedroom other than this sobbing heap of an aging warrior. Knife in hand, she cracked open the bedroom door to see if anyone else was awake in her household. The hall was empty. The two guards seemed to be slumped over asleep near the fire in the main hall. Was Ragnar here to kill her? Had he completely lost his mind? Was this a dream? Lagertha stoked the fire and added more wood for light and warmth. Her room lit up, but Ragnar remained crouched in the shadows. Yes, it was Ragnar crying in a dark corner in her bedroom.

            “Ragnar come here and sit by the fire.” What did he want? He didn’t move. The crying stopped. Lagertha heard him mumble something about the farm. The farm? Their old farm? It had been such a long time since she thought about their old farm and the house where they raised their children. It had been the house where Ragnar grew up and his parents lived and generations of his family before him.

            “Come here,” she said quietly but sternly. Her sword was within reach in case Ragnar had truly lost his mind. Before she could get a good look at his face, Ragnar bolted out the door and out of her hall silently. The guards did not stir. Ragnar was gone like a ghost. Was he in fact a ghost? Was this a dream? Lagertha moved her sword closer to her bed and laid down. It was too much of a shock to process. It must be a nightmare. Ragnar must be dead. In the morning there was no evidence of Ragnar’s visit. Nobody had seen or heard anything. There was no news of Ragnar from Kattegat or anywhere. Ragnar had not been seen or heard from him in five years. Perhaps he was dead. She told no one of her vision, and silently mourned Ragnar’s death.

            It was only two weeks before Lagertha’s sobbing night visitor reappeared. Again she stoked the fire and called to Ragnar, and again he mumbled something about a farm and wanting to farm. It was so real and clear. Ragnar was here. His voice was barely audible,. Lagertha was still uncertain if this was a ghost or if Ragnar was alive here in her bedroom. With her knife held discreetly in the folds of her robe, Lagertha slowly approached the crouching bald headed figure. It was the depths of winter. The dead are easier to see during long winter nights. Surely this must be a ghostly vision, but no. As Lagertha got closer she realized Ragnar was alive and sitting in a dark corner in her bedroom.

            “Ragnar?” Lagertha whispered. She was cautious. What did he want? Ragnar slowly stood. He did not look well. He was not dressed well for the cold. He was bent over and hung his head. How long had he been sitting here crying? He looked straight into her eyes for just a moment before lowering his gaze again. His eyes were red from crying. This once noble man was a mess. It was only a shell of the man she last saw on the boat back from Paris. She had been too injured to pay much attention to him, and it was only quite a bit later that she heard that Ragnar had disappeared when the boat landed in Kattegat. She knew Ragnar was not well, but Ragnar didn’t even greet his wife or sons. He had somehow managed to disappear in the crowd. They all expected Ragnar might decide to watch the solemn feast of defeat from a distance, but he completely disappeared.

            “What do you want?” Lagertha asked, but got no reply. Ragnar went to the fire to warm himself. He stumbled and dragged his feet, moving slowly. He was not armed. Lagertha wrapped one of her warm cloaks around his shabby clothes. She stood watching. What is this fool doing? Is he sick or injured? Why is he here and not in Kattegat? Frustrated but not surprised by his silence she sat on the edge of her bed. If Ragnar wanted to harm her or wanted something else from her she would know by now. Maybe he is a ghost and this is all a dream.

Lagertha closed her eyes and the next thing she knew it was morning. The household was slowly stirring awake and she could smell the household fires being kindled. There was no evidence of Ragnar. Lagertha’s cloak was right where she had left it yesterday. There was no news of Ragnar from anywhere. Ragnar was still missing. Lagertha’s dream was recurring, but only in the dark winter months. Ragnar would appear crying, mumble incoherently about farmers and farm land, sit by the fire, and be gone without a trace. It broke her heart to see Ragnar each time she had this dream. Lagertha would wake up crying. Ragnar was dead. She prayed the great warrior was in Valhalla.

            The next winter Lagertha was anxious to see if her Ragnar dreams and visions would return. A part of her wanted to speak to and touch Ragnar again. She had assumed that he was dead, but a small part hoped he was alive. And seeking her forgiveness. Could Lagertha forgive him? She liked being in a position where Ragnar could be dependent on her, begging her, seeking solace from his suffering. If he was even alive. There was still no word from anywhere about Ragnar. Lagertha gathered some old clothes from the other noble men and kept them in a pile near the fireplace. If Ragnar returned she wanted to make sure he had better warmer clothes. If he was alive. Would he need a bath? She kept a basin of water near the fireplace as well. Maybe she could convince her ghost to stay long enough to speak and not just sob and mumble. She burned herbs in the hopes that it would help the ghost to manifest.

            Ragnar appeared shortly before Yule. Again sobbing and mumbling, Ragnar seemed almost unaware of Lagertha’s presence. He silently invited himself to sit by the fire after she woke up and got out of bed. Ragnar threw some wood on the fire.

            “Why are you here?” No answer.

            “Ragnar,” Lagertha began, “are you dead or alive?” No answer.

            “If you are alive and you would like a bath and some clean clothes you are welcome to the basin and the clothes near the fire.” She stood back as she watched the ghost finger the piles of clothes. Lagertha was tired of this foolishness. She wanted to know if this was a ghost or a dream or if Ragnar was alive in her bedroom. She moved towards the basin. Ragnar met her gaze as she stood over him. Lagertha splashed water in his face. He blinked but did not flinch or fade away. She slowly reached out to touch his shoulder. Ragnar was there. Neither one spoke. He looked into the fire.

Lagertha wanted to say that she hated him, but Ragnar did not look well. He must be dead. Frustrated, she went back to bed. As she was falling asleep it occurred to her that she did not offer her guest food or drink. By the time she woke up to find food for Ragnar it was morning and he was gone. A dream. The clothes and water basin looked untouched. He was a tormented spirit. Maybe he was unable to enter Valhalla. Ragnar seemed so real he couldn’t be dead. Nevertheless she kept the clothes by the fire, made sure the basin always had fresh water and kept some ale and food near the fire in case it wasn’t a dream.

Ragnar appeared two more times like this. He never spoke, or took anything. Each morning she cried quietly, grieving more than when she divorced him. The third time Ragnar appeared that winter he finally decided to use the bath. Lagertha was curious to see his battle scarred body again, but still annoyed and frustrated by these dreams and visions that triggered her grief. Maybe she could at least see some evidence of a wound that caused his death or some illness.

“I don’t know if you are a ghost or a dream, but I am going to sleep, Ragnar. I am tired of your torment interrupting my sleep,” Lagertha said with a sigh as she laid back down in bed. She needed to forget this dream quickly and save herself the tears and grief. In the morning Lagertha’s bed was a mess. Half of the pillows were scattered and the blankets on the side nearest the fireplace were twisted as if someone had slept there. Was this ghost of a man so bold as to sleep in her bed? The remains of Ragnar’s shabby clothes were in the fireplace and the clothes she had left for him were gone. The food and the ale was gone. Ragnar was alive. There had been no news of Ragnar for years. No one in her household or in Hedeby had seen any evidence of Ragnar’s visits, so Lagertha kept her secret. There were no more visits that winter. Lagertha no longer woke up crying and grieving for her dead lover. Summer passed.

As the nights grew longer again in the autumn Lagertha hoped that would be the end of Ragnar’s visits. She still had no idea what he wanted, why he was visiting her, and what was going on. At first she thought Ragnar must have gone insane, but she knew him too well. She had battled enough of her own demons to know that Ragnar must be suffering. When the nights were long and the sun didn’t rise Lagertha began to keep food, ale, and a bath ready. She had secretly been knotting a pair of warm socks for Ragnar like she had done many times many years ago. She must see him again to be sure that it wasn’t all a dream.

Lagertha wanted to be angry at Ragnar, but she had to at least offer him some basic care and comfort. She didn’t want to love him anymore, after everything that happened. Her grief betrayed her true feelings. She loved him, but still felt the grief of divorce, miscarriage, losing their daughter and Athelstan, and her inability to win him back after she became earl. Was he doing this same ghost game with his wife in Kattegat? Or some other woman? If Ragnar was still alive maybe he had some new wife or girlfriend caring for him secretly in the woods. Maybe he secretly shared a bed with Floki and Helga. Lagertha still felt unwilling to forgive Ragnar, but she didn’t want him to die in the cold like a peasant. Ragnar was a great warrior in spite of all his failings. He should die honorably. Maybe she should kill him if he appeared again. That way she would know for sure that he was dead.

Lagertha’s sleep was undisturbed for months. She could find no sign of Ragnar or any visitor. There was still no word from anywhere about Ragnar. It might be nice to have Ragnar in her bed again. Lagertha went back and forth between loving and hating Ragnar. She kept her sword in the bed. Sometimes she cried.

What was wrong with Ragnar? He silently snuck into her bedroom while she slept, said nothing and left without a trace. If he appeared again she would not be so gentle. After all, Ragnar was no ghost. Ragnar was a man. He was king. What sort of a man tormented his ex-wife like this? What sort of behavior was this for a king?

On a very cold long January night Ragnar appeared. Lagertha sat up slowly and calmly. It was dark. She hoped that he wouldn’t see her clutch her sword as she slipped out of bed.

“Why are you here!? Why do you continue to wake me and leave silently as if you were a ghost? What do you want Ragnar?”

“I just wanted a farm. I wanted the rich black earth of England. I wanted all our people to have all the good things in life,” Ragnar said with a stutter as if he was holding back tears.

“Well sail to England and pray to Freyr because our village there had an abundant harvest before we left,” Lagertha replied, uncertain whether she should put her sword down or prepare to use it. She was tired of Ragnar’s crazy. Why couldn’t he cope with his battle sickness like her and all the other warriors?

“The village was destroyed as soon as we left.” Ragnar turned away from her and towards the fire to hide the emotion in his face.

Lagertha was shocked for a moment, but not entirely surprised. She knew all too well that King Ecbert was a greedy and treacherous man. She should have taken more responsibility for their settlement. She had been too young to realize how often noble people did not act in noble ways. Hearing Ragnar’s attempt to muffle his crying by the fireplace triggered her own sense of guilt. Lagertha put the sword back in her bed and went to Ragnar.

There were no words. Lagertha was devastated by this news and disappointed in herself for not going back to see the settlement or appointing a trustworthy Viking to protect it. She thought back to all the treachery and battles she faced at that time. The settlement had been more than she could handle when there were so few people she could trust. Ragnar clearly blames himself, but she had lived there, farmed the land and led the ceremonies. They were her people too. She was their earl. They trusted her. Lagertha felt the guilt as well. She wrapped her arms around Ragnar and let him cry quietly into her hair. Did she still love Ragnar?

“I’m tired Ragnar. We can talk about this in the morning. I am going to sleep. If you stay I will keep you hidden. Nobody knows of your visits and I prefer to keep it that way.” Lagertha silently led Ragnar to the bed and sat him down. She walked to the other side of the bed and laid down with her sword between them. Ragnar sat and stared at the fire. She fell asleep and Ragnar was gone in the morning.

Lagertha kept watch for Ragnar or any evidence of his presence for the rest of the winter. Nothing. Perhaps her ghost was gone now that he had delivered this message. Maybe Ragnar really was dead. Maybe it was all a dream. There was no news of Ragnar anywhere from anyone. Winter turned to summer and the days were long again. On her summer walks in the woods surrounding Hedeby she always kept an eye out for any possible indication that Ragnar might be living nearby. If he was alive she wanted to find him. Lagertha was tired of waiting for Ragnar. The longer she waited the more she thought it would be good to kill him. Twilight from the midnight sun filled the sky and the long winter nights began again.

Lagertha awoke when someone touched her hand. Ragnar was kneeling beside her bed crying and begging for forgiveness. This was much better. She still hated that Ragnar could enter her bedroom so silently and without any trace, but now at least they were making progress. She wanted to revel in his pain a little bit. It eased her grief to see him suffering. When Ragnar lifted his tear soaked face to her she slapped him. Hard.

“I deserve that,” Ragnar whispered as he stopped crying, “Do what you will. I have never been a good husband.” Lagertha remembered that once he had been. Ragnar had been a good husband and father, but that was so long ago. Battle changed them both. Their son was grown and a noble ruler in Kattegat. Their beloved daughter was long gone. What did Ragnar want? Was he also visiting his wife in Kattegat at night?

“Do you say that to Aslaug? Have you taken a new wife or mistress? Why do you continue to torment me? What do you want from me?” Lagertha was too compassionate to be truly angry, but she was certainly annoyed.

“No. You are the only one that matters. You have been true to me when you should have been ready to kill me. You killed your two other husbands, but always remained loyal to me in battle. I cannot trust anyone. I can’t go back to Kattegat. I am no man. I am no king.” Lagertha liked the sound of that. He was here to make things right with her. She loved Ragnar, and thought that maybe the Ragnar she remembered marrying was speaking through this grizzled old man.

“Come to bed.” Lagertha wasn’t certain if Ragnar would take the opportunity to touch her once again or if he would just sleep like he had done in the past. Lagertha held his hand and pulled him up to sit on the bed. Even with so few words exchanged between them over the years of his ghostly visits she felt like the two of them were closer. He still loved her. She knew it. She always knew it. She helped him remove his shoes, socks and leg wraps and placed them by the fire. She put the new socks she had made on top of the pile of his clothes. Ragnar laid in the bed with his back to her. She climbed in and got in position to spoon him. She felt him relax under her arms.

“I shouldn’t be here. I don’t deserve your kindness.” Ragnar whispered in the dark. Lagertha reached for her knife and when she returned her arm to spoon him she pressed the knife to his throat.

“You are right about that,” Lagertha whispered in his ear seductively, “I will not forgive you. I may decide to kill you. But tonight, you can lie in my bed and regret what you did to me.” Ragnar’s body tensed as if he was crying again. Ragnar was crying again.

“You are no man.” Lagertha said, frustrated, as she got out of bed and added wood to the fire.

“You were always the better warrior.” Ragnar admitted as he took a deep breath and sat up in bed. He sat silently looking into her eyes. Lagertha held her knife against the hollow of his throat and he stood to meet her gaze. Maybe she would kill him tonight.

“Don’t forget it,” she said and she hesitated a moment, running the knife down his chest to his belly. With her knife still between their bodies she slowly learned in and kissed Ragnar. Ragnar stood motionless but clearly welcomed her kiss. It had been a very long time and he regretted every moment away from her since their last kiss. Lagertha had gone back to Ragnar many times, but in the position of earl to support him politically. That had been the only way she could express her love. She fought next to him in battle and risked her life for his campaigns in Paris. At the last battle in Paris she thought she no longer loved him, when he tried to interfere with her pregnancy. She had accepted his comfort after miscarrying, but quickly reminded herself how much she should hate him. She wanted to hate him, and she wanted him to suffer. He seemed to be doing a good job of suffering after all these years of sobbing night visits. Could she kill him? Was he worth anything as a hostage? Could she take control of Kattegat and make herself king? What could she do with this kiss?

Ragnar clearly wasn’t afraid to die by her hand, so she let him enjoy the kiss. She let herself enjoy the kiss. In the morning she would need to think. She needed to keep Ragnar coming back to her bed until she could decide on a plan. She needed more information from him. She needed to think about England and avenging the destroyed settlement. There were so many possibilities in this first kiss. She needed him to continue coming back to her until she got what she wanted. Lagertha let go of Ragnar and went to bed. He slowly and cautiously followed.


End file.
